Song of the Serpent
by sarahliza
Summary: Basta was the lead role, uncharacteristically paying an abnormal amount of attention to the maidservant who just stood in the background." A servant in Capricorn's village is surprised at Basta's actions towards her - but she's not complaining about it.
1. One

Song of the Serpent

**A/N: This is for all the masochists out there, and for all those who think Basta i****s sexy simply because he's evil and has a knife. I haven't read Inkdeath yet, nor have I read Inkspell for several years, so apologies for any inaccuracies. But I don't really care, because this is just smut, and it's pretty much set before/during Inkheart.**

* * *

**"**_**Stars, hide your fires; let not light see my black and deep desires…**_**"**

One warm arm was across my chest, holding me to him; another clung to my left wrist. A sharp, clean blade was pressed up against my neck, cold as ice. A similarly sharp tang of peppermint wafted around me; a voice like a snake hissed in my ear, daring me to take a bite into the forbidden fruit. A forbidden pleasure; so wrong, yet so right. Temptation was thick in the air.

Like a satanic serpent, Basta slithered closer to me, his mouth now at the other side of my neck, as if about to bite me. But the scorpion's sting came at the other side, the knife pressing further into the wafer-thin layer of skin that separated the glinting blade from my furiously pulsing blood. I imagined it; the ooze of my own blood escaping from the base of my neck, dripping downwards, leaving scarlet scars across my body. I bleated, a helpless lamb in the clutches of the sadistic serpent, certain pain about to ensnare me.

But yet, I wanted to be there.

Basta's long, thin fingers comfortably encircled my small, fragile wrist. A constricting squeeze there combined with a peppermint nibble on my neck sent me shivering. My wrist was pulled around to the small of my back, along with my other one, and trapped together and tied with a fraying fragment of string. Now entirely helpless, I was a sitting duck; prey on which this fox would soon pounce. He turned me around so I could face him: perhaps hurting others was that much more satisfying for him when he could see their faces. His dark eyes were hooded with lust and the eternal passion to cause pain. He pressed up against me, icy knife still poised and ready to slice through my flesh at the slightest movement from its owner's hand.

Suddenly, the blade had left my neck, and the place where it had been was instantly cool, but then burned. Basta shoved the knife in between my teeth, almost like a gag. It caught the corner of my mouth as he did so, and I tasted my own blood on my tongue, metallic, and in a sick way, leaving me wanting more. Where the knife had been was now a tiny red cut, not bleeding, but sensitive. My captor's teeth assaulted the cut, and a wave of pain shivered through me, agonizing yet beautiful. My toes curled as adrenaline pulsed through my system and my heart throbbed louder.

His fingers trailed along my bare arms, sending a shiver to my very core and leaving goosebumps in their wake. I melted at his touch, despite the cold stone behind me and the cool midnight air that drifted in through the open window. I could feel his hot, slow breathing on my neck; on my collarbone; travelling down to the neckline of my dress. He snatched the knife out from between my lips, and I let out a gasp that I had been holding up. I saw the corners of his thin mouth turn upwards, and watched the unforgiving steel slice neatly through the flimsy fabric of my bodice.

As soon as my virtuous breasts were exposed to the chill of the night air, I tensed and shivered. Previously untouched, and covered with a thin sheen of cold sweat, my nipples were teased by Basta, with his serpentine aura and similarly nimble tongue. He drew circles around them briefly, before turning his attention to his knife - it was now around my naval. He swiftly and skilfully placed it against my neck again; my breath caught in my throat and shuddered through my chest.

I heard a thick growl of desire echo from his throat, and I was vividly reminded of a wild animal - like the vicious cats that stalked the Wayless Wood - about to kill; eyes glinting at the promise of blood. In the edges of my sight, I saw his hand stray, moving the blade from my neck to my collarbone. It scraped along it; the shocks shook through my body like a salvo. My muscles loosened: I was a helpless puddle in his arms. Much to my embarrassment, a fervent moan escaped from my mouth as the blade grazed along the edge of my breast.

His fingers tickled the small of my back; the intoxicating touch made my spine arch, pressing my body deeply into his. I heard him groan intensely as my abdomen met with his erection. I found myself yearning for him to be inside me; longing for the teasing to end and for my virtue to be lost to him. I whimpered pathetically as a response to this desire, but I was met with nothing but a dark chuckle. I bit my lip, and found out that the gag had made a cut in it; sore, swollen and beginning to bleed.

Basta soon noticed this, and dared to bite it with his devilish fangs. Pain pulsed through my body like venom being pumped around my veins, and I was powerless to do anything but moan gloriously into his mouth. My desire to be taken screamed louder than ever in my ear: I didn't care how, all I knew was that it had to be as soon as possible. I wanted to feel his slow thrusts; his hips against mine; our bodies moving in euphoric harmony with each other - the thought alone was like the gratification of a beast of prey as it sated itself on its catch. The drug of pain still diluted my blood as the scarlet liquid began to flow freely into Basta's mouth.

I could taste it myself; the familiar iron mixed with the sweet hormones of sex. I was too absorbed with this flavour and the venomous throbs of pain thrusting themselves through every artery to notice that Basta was reaching to silently and subtly unzip his fly. I only became aware when he gagged me again with the blade and slid his hands beneath the waistband of my black skirt; his touch on my burning thighs sent chills through my whole body.

He ground his hips against mine, and at the same time, pulled mine to meet his. The result was euphoric. I found myself gasping from behind the gag, and I heard him trying to stifle a moan - it came out instead as a low rumble deep in his chest. I felt a tiny splash on my breast: a drop of blood from my lip that had made its way down my chin. I must have looked a sight: a swollen lip that was bleeding profusely; a knife in between my teeth; a dress that was ripped to shreds.

I suddenly saw an eerie light behind Basta's head; a faint orange glow. It gradually revealed a scarred face as it grew; sandy hair; the collar of an old coat. Dustfinger held a match in his nimble fingers, moving it ever closer to Basta's hair as he stood behind him, yet unnoticed. I tried to warn him - my gag jumbled any words my tongue managed to form, and although I attempted to make my eyes speak volumes, it was too late. The familiar and strangely comforting smell of singed hair hit my nose - and Basta's too. His hand flew to his head.

"Son of a…" Basta spun around, but shied away from the small flame the fire-eater held. I saw anger flash across his face, though muted by a certain fear.

"Hello, Basta. Still scared of fire, my friend?"

"What are you doing here, you little…" Basta sought for an appropriate insult to spit in Dustfinger's face, but none came. Instead, he set his eyes warily on Dustfinger's hand, which still held the match.

"I'm here to save Maria." He gestured towards me, and I felt my cheeks turn red.

"Maria?" Basta laughed derisively. "She doesn't need saving."

"Yeah, she looks like she's having a whale of a time," he said satirically, casting a suspicious glance at the blade between my lips. He reached out a friendly hand to take it, and even though my mouth was now free, I had nothing to say. Dustfinger then casually tossed the knife out of the open window and hurtling to the ground below, much to Basta's sorrow.

The fire-eater firmly took my shoulder and pulled me away from Basta. He simply stared, frightened and envious of the man who could summon fire. Dustfinger offered me his old coat; I took it, glad to find myself decent again, and protected from the cold night air. We walked, my mind blurred, each step taking me further and further away from where I wanted to be. I stumbled over tiny rocks that would not normally faze me; stepped into potholes I knew existed, and yet failed to avoid. Finally, Dustfinger spoke.

"Aren't you going to thank me? I rescued you from a vicious sadist!"

"Thanks," I said bluntly, disappointment running clear and true in my voice. I faltered, losing time with Dustfinger's strides and thus abandoning the protection of his torch against the unfamiliar darkness that surrounded me. I didn't mind; there was a part of the danger that excited me…I couldn't quite place it. Dustfinger turned around, the firelight casting odd shadows across his scarred face.

"Come here, Maria; stay close to me," he said firmly, casting a glance into the darkness. "Who knows what's in those hills?" I obeyed, hesitantly. I didn't trust the fire-eater: what business was it of his what Basta did and who he did it with? He was a guest in this village: allowed to remain through Capricorn's very limited mercy. In fact, Basta, through rage, might persuade his master to banish Dustfinger from the village.

I would keep my fingers crossed.

* * *

**A/N: There is, in progress, an alternate ending to this story, where Dustfinger doesn't barge in and things go a little further. . .woot!**

**Review please! Even if it is to say you hate me and want to burn my guts. I don't mind. I'll still reply :D**


	2. Alternate Ending to Chapter One

**A/N: Thanks for all the awesome reviews! I'm very proud to be amongst the elite group of Basta zealots, and here is the much anticipated alternate ending, in which Basta ****(finally) gets some. =D**

_He ground his hips against mine, and at the same time, pulled mine to meet his. The result was euphoric. I found myself gasping from behind the gag, and I heard him trying to stifle a moan - it came out instead as a low rumble deep in his chest. I felt a tiny splash on my breast: a drop of blood from my lip that had made its way down my chin. I must have looked a sight: a swollen lip that was bleeding profusely; a knife in between my teeth; a dress that was ripped to shreds. _

I felt his tongue on my breast, roguishly licking up the small orb of blood. His face was suddenly right in mine, his mouth hovering over my lips as if about to kiss them, though the knife made this impossible. The overwhelming aroma of peppermint was all about me; made me dizzy with its thick, heady scent. I allowed my eyes to flicker closed. I was drunk on his smell, preoccupied, ignorant to the power he held over me, and only aware of the distracting perfume.

Until he plunged into me, hands around my waist, pulling me towards him. The pain was almost unbearable; agony coursed through my entire body like rainbows of motor oil spreading through water. The dull pain consumed me like a flame; the blossom of a fiery flower waking from a lifetime of hibernation. My young, innocent body was painted with the blood-red rose that accompanied the loss of virtue; it bloomed over my body, spreading through my veins like a drug.

I wanted more.

As if feeding my addiction, Basta delved again into my core, causing another grenade of ecstasy to explode in my body. My vision blurred. I was lost in the dark forest of my pain-laced pleasure, with no intention of finding my way out. I arched my back, and lolled my head so it hit the wall behind me, exposing my neck and unintentionally offering it to him. Then I felt something entirely unexpected: Basta's lips on my neck, placing searing and spine-tingling kisses along it.

As his thrusts became steadier and even deeper, rapturous moans escaped my mouth from behind my gag. I felt his warm fingers weave themselves into my chocolate brown locks, much to my surprise. Our eyes met for a moment, and for a split second, I thought I saw something other than the fierce passion for sadism that usually filled them. Could it have been…love? Was Basta capable of feeling affection for anything other than his beloved blade? I flattered myself by believing it was true; though the flash in his eyes only lasted an instant and I couldn't be sure. It was abruptly ended by another deep thrust from him, which made an ardent moan issue from my mouth, and a lustful growl come from his. The sound made my legs go weak.

Pleasure rose in my body like the roll of a tsunami, and a few seconds later, the wave broke, flooding my body with glittering seawater. It spread over every inch of my flesh; the water went into runnels of sand and spread. I heard not the embarrassing ravished moans that escaped my lips as I came, but I felt the ecstasy pump through my veins with every thick heartbeat. Spasms racked through my body, aftershocks from the orgasm. A moment later, I felt him shudder, spurred on by my shocks, as he came too. He gasped my name in my ear; a husky whisper that made me shiver.

He pulled out of me, and I suddenly felt remarkably empty, but not unfulfilled. I felt incredibly weak; my limbs had turned to jelly. I was half asleep by the time I felt something soft beneath me - Basta must have put me on his bed. I apprehensively opened one eye, but he was on the other side of the room, his face turned away from me. The position I found myself in, hands still tied awkwardly behind my back, was uncomfortable, but I was so tired that I was able to ignore it and let sleep take over.

* * *

I woke suddenly, arms cramping. I searched in the darkness of the starless night that came in through the window for the sound that woke me. It came again from the foot of the bed, a creaking sound, like the antiquated bones of an octogenarian. The part of the mattress that was below my knee buckled with the weight of a man who appeared merely as a solid mass of black in the night. I would have been more scared if I hadn't known that it was merely Basta.

He flipped me over so I was on my back; my heart began to beat rapidly again, and my breaths became deeper, providing oxygen to my racing mind. It seemed strange to me how the human reactions to danger and to attraction were so similar: the racing heart; the sweaty palms; the hyperventilation - perhaps this was no coincidence. I had no more time to contemplate this, however, because Basta - surprising me and making me yelp - ripped the front of my black dress beyond repair. I groaned.

"Mortola will kill me," I complained, muttering, mostly to myself.

"Not if I kill you first," he said, darkly. Once again, I was faced with the prospect of my own death as his knife pressed up against the soft flesh of my neck. One swift movement, and blood from my jugular could be spilled all over the sheets, dyeing them scarlet. Though I could imagine how much Basta would appreciate blood-soaked bedcovers, I doubted he would have the gumption to slaughter an innocent, vulnerable teenage girl without motive.

Besides, he wouldn't dream of sacrificing his plaything.

A dark chuckle came from the black shape that was Basta, as if he could read my mind. I felt his chest rumble with the laughter; he was right on top of me - I had barely noticed this change, as my mind was so fogged. His warm thighs were on either side of mine and I smelt the tangy peppermint that created the exhilarating and odd cooling sensation wherever he breathed. I was hypnotized by him - by his very presence. I was under his sadistic spell, so to speak. His lips were right over mine, and I could feel them brushing against mine as he spoke. He whispered something, barely audible.

"Ti piace?"

I replied, with certainty: "Amo la."

With that, he thrust into me again, making me emit a cry of surprise and pain. Now unheeded by any blade, my lips were free to pour out any sound they wished; after the initial shock of Basta's (not unappreciated) attack, these were mostly moans or cries of pleasure. I felt liberated, suddenly, from all my worries: I ceased to think about Mortola, and how I would deal with my massacred dress in the morning. I ceased to think of what punishment I might receive for tonight if anyone ever found out. I ceased to think about the immanent danger of Basta, knife at his disposal, my throat exposed to him and ready to be sliced.

He bit my sore lip again, and a fresh wave of pain washed through me. That, combined with his deep thrusts into my core - each of which felt as though I was being shattered like a thin sheet of glass - made the euphoria I was able to derive from the pain even more intense. His hypnotic touch on my waist and the agony that shuddered through my body made me come much earlier than I had anticipated. Spurred on by the aftershocks of my orgasm, he came not long after.

My body sagged; I was instantly exhausted. My limbs and my muscles felt heavy and weary, and my entire body felt like it was being engulfed by the bedsheets. I limply let Basta slide out of me, and, unheeding in the discomfort of my contorted arms and my aching core, fell asleep almost immediately.

* * *

Dawn came and interrupted my dreamless sleep far too quickly; the balmy sunlight and sleepy birdsong was not welcomed by me. Not only was it the birdsong, but also the sound of a group of young, cocky Black Jackets wasting ammunition on trying to kill the birds. I half expected to look out of the window and see Basta with them, showing off his faultless aim which he had acquired through years of knife-throwing, but instead he came in through the bedroom door, carrying a small black parcel with him, which he dropped next to the bed on which I lay.

"It's a new dress. Put it on and get back to your room before the magpie wakes up," he ordered. I obeyed, finding that my hands had been cut free. Just before I left the house into the dewy sunlight, he whispered in my ear:

"Come back tonight."

How could I disobey?

**A/N: Ok, sorry about the crap ending. I only put it because I wanted to prepare you for the next chapter ;). The Italian was just him saying "Do you like it?" and her replying "I love it." I only chose to put that in because Italian is The. Sexiest. Language. Ever. Sorry it's probably hideously incorrect, but unfortunately Google Translate isn't exactly known for its accuracy. If you haven't read it already, may I recommend "Italian" by Spectregeneral, which is a Basta/Dusty fic, and it's uh-mazing. It puts mine to shame in its hotness. (Also "And now, you're mine" is pretty damn good :D)**


	3. Two

Song of the Serpent 2

**A/N: Sorry this has taken so long to post, and thanks to basta'sgirl for making me write it! The lemon scene turned out to be a lot longer than I had anticipated, sorry. The quote is from Macbeth again; I'll explain what it means, in both Shakespeare's context and this one, if you want to ask me. Also, I'll give translations of the Italian at the end. (I know you don't care about how much Maria likes poetry, but I thought I'd add some substance to her character. I think this makes her relationship with Basta much more real, and it works better later on.)**

"_**Words to the heat of deeds too cold breath gives."**_

"No!" my friend said in shock, mouth agape.

I blushed. "Don't make a big deal about it, ok? I don't want anyone else to know."

"Don't worry - you have my word." Sealing the deal, Lucia - my best friend and mentor since I had started here at thirteen; she only fifteen - gave me a quick, warm hug. "I still can't believe it, though. Basta? Did I hear you correctly?"

"Yes, you did… and shush!" We both giggled as a hard-faced maid turned towards the corner we were gossiping in and glared disapprovingly.

***

I knew not what to expect when approaching Basta's house for the second time –- though my mind strayed little from a vision of the same thin-lipped smile widening as I surrendered to the terror of his abuse: the abuse that I loved. The house seemed cold and empty as I approached it, shadows darkening the doors and windows as night fell. I approached the dark doorway, uneasy, but not afraid. I saw a small white square on the door, and as I came closer, I saw it was a note. It read:

_Il mio bella Maria, _

_I will be back soon. Make yourself at home._

_Il tuo grande Basta_

I chuckled at Basta's vanity, and bit my lip when I remembered the truth behind it. I was puzzled, as none of the Black Jackets could read or write, as far as I knew. I took the note and let myself inside. I pulled myself up the gloomy staircase, still wondering over how Basta could have had this note written. I dreaded to think that he had gotten another maid to write it: I had told no-one - besides Lucia - about my relationship with him. I scanned through the maids who could write: Lucia, Resa and myself. I cringed; I hoped it wasn't Resa. During her time here, we had spent hours discussing poetry; I had come to her room many nights to read out loud to her, and she had become a sort of mother to me.

Reading was my secret passion; Capricorn's hell-chapel was littered with books and I picked them up whenever I was not being watched. Books of poetry; age-old songs sung by minstrels of days past; ballads, sonnets: the list was never-ending. A favorite of mine was the eloquent rhyme of Shakespeare's plays: the puns and mistaken identities of the comedies; the beautiful and poignant soliloquies of the tragedies; the histories that peeked into times when murder and treachery were daily occurrences, so it seemed.

I had just entered Basta's bedroom with its white walls and meticulously neat surfaces, when I heard the door slam downstairs. My heart raced; whether through fright or anticipation, I didn't know. Panic and adrenaline coursed through my veins like some powerful drug and as heavy footsteps came up the stairs, every inch of my body was tingling with an odd - but not unpleasant - sensation; goosebumps covered my skin and chills went up my spine.

The door opened and I looked down; either out of subconscious submission, embarrassment or a combination of the two. Here I stood, a mere soubrette in the story of life, Basta in the lead role, uncharacteristically paying an abnormal amount of attention to the maidservant who just stood in the background.

His black boots stopped just before me, and soon I felt his hand on my jawline, lifting my head up to look at him and staring at me as though I was an item up for auction. I felt a sudden surge of anger towards him - or maybe myself - for thinking that he could be improved upon.

"Buonjiorno, il mio poco puttana," he said smoothly, breaking the silence with a voice as thick as treacle. I attempted to hide my chagrin at being called a whore, but I couldn't resist the opportunity of the insult I had just thought of.

"Buonjiorno, il mio grande Basta - rdo!" I giggled, partly at the success of my pun, and partly at Basta's shocked expression. I let down my guard, which was a mistake, and suddenly felt the sting of him palm across my left cheek. I put a hand up to it, gasping; I tasted blood in my mouth. He chuckled, and I threw a glare at him from behind the dark brown fringe that had fallen over one eye.

"That'll teach you to be rude."

He said it so patronizingly that I felt the need to mimic his words. I was rewarded with another slap and a livid Basta, hand at his belt, ready to grab his knife. I fell silent.

Still nursing my sore cheek, my vision blurred with tears, Basta stepped towards me and gently stroked my neck - partly apologetically, partly with the yearning of a love-starved prisoner. I instinctively stepped away from him, but he steered me to the nearest wall and I suddenly had nowhere to run anymore.

Not that I really wanted to run.

He flicked out his knife - faster than I could see - in fact I only became aware of it when I felt it pressed up against the thin and overly sensitive skin of my right wrist. I gasped: this was something I was incredibly uncomfortable with. He sensed my discomfort and pressed further, a malicious grin appearing on his face as a pained grimace formed on mine.

The sharp edge didn't pierce the skin, but I felt it against my tendons as I struggled, and it made me feel sick to the stomach. I closed my eyes, and Basta, not unexpectedly, took advantage of my sudden vulnerability and took the chance to slide my skirt down past my hips. It piled around my ankles heavily, like snow succumbing to gravity and falling from the limb of a tree; but quite unlike pure snow, my skirt was coal black - dark like my soul.

Basta ran his free hand over my now bare and trembling thigh, letting his fingers curl slightly and claw at my soft flesh. They scraped against my skin and hooked themselves on the inside of my knee. He then began to lift my leg, guiding it gently to his hip. I consented, loving the feel of his warm trouser leg against the inside of my thigh. My ankle instinctively hooked around his leg, and I felt better - more confident - when he discarded the knife, leaving my wrist sore, but liberated.

Tingles went up my spine when he began to suck and bite at the bottom of my neck, and rest his palms on my waist. He began to mumble against my neck; I couldn't understand what he was saying - his words were quiet and slurred. I felt his soft, open-mouthed kisses travel up my neck, and half-formed words buzzed under his lips. Then, as his kisses reached the skin below my ear, I heard what he was saying.

"Maria," he muttered. In the years to follow, I would never forget how he mumbled my name, with a voice so lust-laced… I would never forget the chills it gave me when combined with his warm breath caressing my ear. "_Gattino, _tell me… truthfully now," he said, snaking an arm around my waist and subsequently pulling me towards him. "Why did you come back?"

I was surprised, to say the least. And once I thought about it, I didn't know how to truthfully answer. Was it because I liked the torture? How could I tell him that without sounding like a sick child? Was it because I felt a sense of duty towards him? Was it because I loved him?

"I…I don't know."

He leaned in so close to me that our lips were practically touching; I felt his lips move as he spoke.

"You don't?"

I longed to close the tiny gap between our lips as a dying man longs for water - I tried, but he saw it coming and pinned me to the wall, his hand pressing up against my neck and his fingertips undoubtedly feeling my dangerously quick pulse, and leaving me even thirstier for his concupiscible lips.

"I just know it's right," I choked out, without thinking.

The glance he gave me for the few seconds after I said it was full of more emotion than I would have thought Basta capable of all at once: unease, shock, anger… I had no idea what to expect next.

And what happened was last on my list of things to expect.

He released his grip on my neck and let his fingers skim down, past my breasts, leaving behind a trail of goosebumps. They continued to travel, further and further down… I let out a gasp - I had not, of all things, expected to feel his fingers…there, doing….that. Fingers that had, in the past, thrown knives with deadly precision were now showing off their dexterity to a - needless to say - very appreciative audience. Instinctively, I rocked my hips up into his hand and he growled, giving me a warning. Any threat to his domination, I found out, made him angry.

Though I knew he wouldn't allow it, I longed to place a kiss on his lips - an obsession which had plagued me since I had first felt them touch my skin. I lusted for this tiny sign of tenderness…any inkling that would prove to me that he liked me for more than my body. I would be granted no such joy, but a tiny part of me clung on to the tiny shred of hope that one day - perhaps - I might get something more.

I threw my head back when he pushed my underwear down and gently slid two fingers inside me. He began to pump them in and out to a steady rhythm, curling his fingers slightly as he pulled back out. I growled deep in my chest; it was flush against his and I'm sure he could feel it rumble. My eyelids slid closed, a kind of euphoria taking over. He stopped just before I felt myself coming close to release, and I felt a brief flash of anger towards him. This was over swiftly, however, because where his hand was once, was now the head of his erection pressed gently to my entrance, unmoving. A cocky smile appeared on his face as I looked up.

Tease.

By this point, I was desperate to have him inside of me; desperate for my release - I resorted to begging.

"Please…" I gasped from parched lips. "Basta, please." I felt him growl, and felt his hot breath on my neck.

"Say that again…say my name again…" he said huskily, pressing his lips to the skin of my neck.

I obeyed.

Just as my lips formed his name, preparing to relish it and give him chills for once, he gave a deep thrust. The shock of feeling him fully sheathed inside me made the word I was about to say come out as a strangled yelp. Gasping, I looked him accusingly in the eyes, but my chagrin was short-lived - he pulled back out and slammed into me again. My eyes closed; I was engulfed in the euphoria. I longed to embrace his neck and pull him close; to kiss him and show him how much I loved him. But I dared not do it. I knew how murderous Basta could be.

Another thrust earned a low, guttural moan from me and I ground my hips to meet his. Each thrust grew faster and deeper, and as a steady rhythm grew, I was pressed firmly into the wall. Up until now, the two fingers that had been inside of me had been resting on my waist, still glistening. But now, he raised his left hand to my mouth and pressed his wet fingers to my lips, demanding access. I granted it readily, and I tasted myself on his fingers as they glided between my lips.

This combination of the much-desired friction on my lips - despite it not being the friction I truly wanted - and the glorious feeling of Basta inside me was mind blowing: I manifested my bliss by moaning around his fingers.

The lovemaking continued - I use the word "love" here in its most lenient sense, for what Basta and I did was far from it… it was more like willing submission on my part and cold-blooded lust on his. In fact, the way Basta fucked was like the way he murdered - heartlessly and often purely for the sake of it. There was no doubting that he enjoyed both - no wonder he thought of me as a whore - but sometimes I couldn't help thinking that there might have been a little more to him than that. Perhaps there was more than this single dimension I saw on the surface: perhaps there were feelings behind the cold and violent exterior.

***

_It was such a weird feeling; I couldn't even place it. Was it love? _

_Impossible. _

_I think. _

_The way she tossed her head back as I plunged into her, the way she reacted to each of my touches, the adorable little moans that came out of her mouth - each of these gave me goosebumps. And I had no idea why. This feeling was unfamiliar to me - not the same passion I felt when the blade of my knife slammed into the backs of ribcages or sliced through the vulnerable skin at a person's neck - but a different sort of passion. _

_What an odd feeling. _

_I didn't entirely like it. It made me feel vulnerable; it tore down the carefully-laid defenses I had set up. I had spent my whole life acting cold and heartless for a reason; so as not to seem weak and to invoke fear in those I had wished to invoke fear upon. Now, I felt….un-scary. And I didn't like it._

***

Waking up in the balmy dawn to the now comforting sound of early morning target practice, I gazed out the window to the boys - for they really were no more than boys - and day dreamed. If that tiny spark of adoration I thought I saw for a split second in Basta's eyes was real, and if one day, when my wildest dreams came true, we were to get married, I imagined myself gazing out a window like this one. I was watching Basta with our two sons, teaching them to throw playing cards so they stuck into a foam block he had attached to the tree. It was a nice image, though one I knew was highly unlikely to ever come true.

I sighed, almost abandoning my fantasy, and rolled over to my other side, where - to my surprise - I saw Basta watching me, sitting in an old chair. I pulled the sheets that had been loosely draped over me closer to my body.

"Your dress is over here," he said simply, tight lipped. I frowned, feeling cut off prematurely by this abrupt goodbye. Slipping it on and fixing my hair, and feeling Basta's eyes still burning into my body, I was ready to go fairly swiftly. I was about to speak, but he beat me to it.

"I'll send you a message when I want you."

I consented, thinking it would be tonight or at least in the next few days. But it never crossed my mind that it might mean never.

**A/N: Wowee, this was a long chapter. Ok, translations. The letter says "My pretty Maria….your big Basta." Later on, he called her a "whore", and then she called him a "bastard" by playing on his name. My friends and I had a good laugh about this. As it is, it's bedtime and I'm still in my school uniform. Review if you want me to feel good about writing more.**


	4. Three

**A/N: Sorry this is an immensely short chapter, but I didn't really know what to say. It's just filler, in fact. Look up the song by Hey Monday on youtube, it's a good song and I think it really fits well with Maria's story. I love the feeling when you find the theme song for one of your characters! **

_"Look like the innocent flower, but be the serpent under't."_

Days passed; weeks; months - still no message from Basta. My seventeenth birthday came and went, all without a single word from the man whose absence made my heart grow fonder as time passed. In fact, every time I so much as thought of him - his strong and forceful arms; his warm palms; his deep brown eyes that sometimes showed hints of what I thought was a soft feeling towards me - my heart swelled in my chest, causing me physical pain. The more senior maids became increasingly bitter towards me with each time I felt I had to sit down because of what I told them was 'heartache.'

The one person who was always there for me, though, was Resa. It was as though she knew how I was feeling - like she had been through something similar. I didn't want to question her about it, but I remained curious.

Work was dull - even more so than usual, if that was possible - so as I completed mundane tasks I had little else to think about besides the gentle touch of his fingertips on my waist; when I closed my eyes I could feel his warm breath on my neck, only to be cripplingly disappointed when I opened them and found I was all alone, washing dishes.

Not once was I called to clean Basta's house; not once to even so much as drop off clean sheets. He was deliberately avoiding me, I soon figured out, and that hurt more than any blade.

Once, when dusting the blood-red chapel - it was a Tuesday, I believe - Capricorn and Basta had a party of people in the chapel. Large amounts of the Black Jackets were gathered there, and three others: a tall and handsome man, a wide-eyed blonde girl who I felt as though I recognized and an old, chubby woman in numerous bangles and scarves. I wasn't listening to their conversation.

At one point, my bloodshot eyes managed to catch his. He held my gaze for a few magical seconds; his eyes shocked, guilt-ridden and apologetic all at the same time - though perhaps I mistook this for anger. Suddenly, gold coins and jewels began to rain from the sky. Basta looked away in awe, and to add insult to injury a particularly heavy ruby fell on my head.

"**6 Months" - Hey Monday**

**Months going strong now and no goodbye****  
****Unconditional****  
****Unoriginal****  
****Always by my side****  
****Meant to be together****  
****Meant for no one but each other****  
****You love me****  
****I love you harder so**

**Everything you say****  
****Every time we kiss I can't think straight****  
****But I'm okay****  
****And I can't think of anybody else****  
****Who I hate to miss as much as I hate missing you**

_I refused to be in love. No way in hell was that happening. _

_I wasn't in love._

_But yet, when I saw her there in the chapel, my heart melted all over again. Her eyes - those hazel pools - were bloodshot from tears and pink around the edges. She looked sleep-deprived and weary; I just wished I could take her into my arms and hold her until all the sadness was gone. _

_I had been utterly immature and stupid - cutting her out of my life was a foolish idea - and it had made her upset. That wasn't my plan at all. My plan was to seamlessly end our relationship and save her from pain. _

_Seeing her innocent neck covered in scars killed me a little. It was totally unfair to her. And I was losing my touch - I had become too sentimental and not ruthless enough. If I lost it too much, Capricorn wouldn't blink twice at having me killed._

_Nonetheless, she was upset. And I had made it so. I needed to fix it before something worse happened. _

I really needed to get over him before something worse happened. A few times I had fingered a steak knife in the kitchen. A few times I had spotted an old rope in the courtyard and considered smuggling it back to my room. All of these times I stopped myself, but it was only a matter of time before my common sense stopped kicking in.

* * *

**Again, my apologies for the patheticness of this chapter but it was one that needed to happen. Next one's the last one. Reviews are love. **


	5. Four

"…**doff thy name; and for thy name, which is no part of thee, take all myself."**

"Maria?"

I jumped at the sound of my name. Each time I heard it, I wanted the person saying it to be Basta. Alas, it never was. Much to my dismay, this time it was another maid, one whose name I had yet to learn.

"Yes?" I asked. The girl skipped over, light brown hair in a tidy ponytail. She was too happy; obviously she hadn't been here long.

"I have a message for you."

"From whom?" I was puzzled, wondering who would want to contact me in this God-forsaken village, besides…

"Basta."

"Basta?" I cried out in surprise, dropping the cooking dish I held. Unidentifiable brown mush splattered over the stone floor, but thankfully, not as far as my feet. I crouched to hurriedly clear it up, but the girl still stood over me.

"He says it's urgent. I'll clean this up," she said with a kind smile.

"Oh, thank you." I returned the smile, tiptoed around broken glass, and slipped out of the door. I was looking down, but in the doorway I saw a pair of feet. I looked up to see who they belonged to; to my shock it was Resa, who had clearly heard my conversation and who I was going to see. She glared at me and simply shook her head with disappointment, not saying a word. I snapped back at her.

"Don't look at me like that, Resa! What do you know?"

"_All I know is that it's a mistake,_" said her eyes, almost pleading.

"You don't know me. You don't understand!" I noticed that my fists were clenched. I was full of rage: she wasn't my mother; she couldn't stop me from doing what I wanted!

"_You're being stupid,_" she seemed to say.

"Well here's the pot calling the kettle black!" She looked at me with questioning eyes, and I lowered my voice. "Don't think I don't know about you and that damned fire-eater!" She looked down. When she looked up again there were tears and hate in her eyes.

"I'm sorry, Resa, but you have to let me make my own decisions. I'll see you later." I walked past her, half-expecting a motherly arm to reach out and stop me, but none did.

My heart began to beat wildly as I made my way across the stony courtyards and narrow alleyways of Capricorn's village, not only because of the fight I had with Resa, but because of meeting Basta again after what had been far too long. What did he want me for? Could he have changed his mind? Six months was a long time; I doubted it. But what else would have been so 'urgent'? My brow furrowed and my breath caught in my throat when I saw his house again, and I hesitated before going inside.

The house seemed abnormally silent. I crept up the stairs, cursing every step for being a downright hurricane of noise. When I reached his door, I knocked tentatively.

"What?" a voice inside snapped. Even though his voice sounded angry, it gave me chills just to hear it again. I slipped silently inside. His back was turned to face the window; he was gazing, arms crossed, at the growing twilight. I wondered as to what was so horrible about the Italian countryside that made him so angry. Or was it something else?

"Who is it?"

"It's me." He whirled around, his expression harsh, but his features softened when he saw who "me" was.

"Maria," he whispered, almost in awe, as he stepped towards the centre of the room. There it was, the word I had been waiting six months to come out of his mouth. Six long months of my life I had wasted without hearing that heart-breaking voice. A wide grin broke over my face. "Come here," he ordered gently, his voice laced with unfamiliar affection, and I obeyed willingly. Being close to him again was a strange feeling; but not in a bad way. It was a feeling of something unfamiliar, but comfortable, like returning to the house I was born. When I came closer, his hand reached up and lightly traced my brow with his thumb. I felt my cheeks go red. There was a long pause, neither of us knowing how long it lasted, before he spoke.

"I've missed this face," he said softly, his thumb moving to graze my cheekbone. My cheeks went even redder, if it was possible, and as much as I wanted to look down out of embarrassment, I found it impossible to break his gaze. His warm, chocolate brown eyes were large with awe, and - though it may have been my imagination - I thought I saw a thin layer of glistening tears in them.

"I've missed this neck," he muttered, as his warm fingers passed over the thin, scarred skin of my neck, feeling with his fingertips the rapidly pulsing blood beneath it, and looking at it with as much lust as a thirsty vampire might. Hearing his voice and feeling his touch after such a long time away from it made me practically shiver with delight and brim over with joy. He moved yet closer to me; I could feel his chest rise and fall with every breath and the heat of his body against mine.

"My God, Maria…I've missed _you_."

The words he said were barely audible; if I hadn't known better, I could have almost made myself believe he never said it Before I knew it, his arm had caressed the back of my neck, and his lips were on mine, engaging me in a steamy kiss. I was surprised, but I returned it, rising up onto my tiptoes so I could reach him better, and running my fingers through his short black hair. I felt his hand move to the small of my back, and I sunk into his embrace. The friction of his lips against mine was wonderful, and the feeling of his hands on my hips was spine-tingling.

I could hardly believe it; that _Basta _was kissing _me_; that he could feel affection. I felt like I was dreaming. I thought it was beyond Basta's black heart to be able to love anything besides servitude to Capricorn and cold-blooded slaughter. But now I knew the real him, the side of him that was capable of love and not merely murder. Resa couldn't shake her head at me now; I no longer felt any guilt for falling in love with this sadist, for now I knew that the sadist could love me back.

Our lips broke away, and I instantly missed his taste - the peppermint and the soft heat of his lips against mine. I felt a different guilt now: guilt towards my mother - wherever she was - and how disappointed she would be for not retaining my virginity until marriage, and much more for losing it before even my first kiss. But I wasn't upset for this, despite it being abnormal for a girl my age, for I had no doubt that right here, in Basta's arms, was where I was meant to be.

If I were feeling cruel, I could have pressed him for an answer as to why he ignored me all these months - I was interested to find out what his reasons were; I wanted to know his alibi. I felt as though it was not beyond my power to squeeze an answer out of Basta in this weakened state. But I could see in his eyes that whatever his reasons for abandoning me he repented of them now, and despite whatever he wanted before, right now, he wanted me.

As proof of this, he stroked my neck again, as if he could hardly believe that it really existed. He smiled - a rare and wonderful sight - and this time it wasn't an evil smile that curled up at the side, the expression he wore whenever he would kill or when he knew he was causing me pain, but a kind, loving one. It was heartbreaking to me how he could fit so much emotion into one smile; five months of emotion that I had missed. I kissed his happy lips, half-expecting him to stop me, wanting to be in control. But apparently today he was tolerable of competition for his domination.

We stood for what seemed like an age in blissful union, bathed in ochre from the setting sun. The yellow darkened to a deep red, and when I looked into Basta's eyes again, they were full of deep care for his "little whore." I put my arms around his waist, simply enjoying our silent company and the feeling of his warm body against mine. When I rested my head against his chest, his hand began to stroke my long, dark hair. His touch set my heart beating at an alarming rate, and made me begin to hyperventilate. Maybe he did this on purpose, just to see my reaction.

He placed a loving kiss on the top of my head, and I physically shivered with pleasure. It was a curse, really, the way I wore my heart on my sleeve and let all my feelings show. Nothing was a secret with me. In the same way, I didn't feel the need to keep my relationship with Basta a secret anymore. Who cared who he was? Who cared about what his position was? What did any of it matter if we were in love?

He pulled his arms from me, and I immediately missed his embrace.

"Wait here," he said, smiling again. "I'll be right back." A pout formed on my face, but Basta didn't stay around to see it. I waited for what felt like forever in my eyes for his return, and when he did come back, he burst in the door. I was both frightened and excited by his loud entrance and the fact that he held a blade in his hand. In fact, my heart beat louder than ever and my chest heaved with my deep breaths when he pressed me up against the far wall, knife once again in its usual place at the base of my neck. He looked straight into my eyes, face centimeters away from mine and his peppermint heightening all of my senses.

"Are you frightened?" he whispered, moving his body closer to mine.

"Absolutely," I said, smiling.

"_Hold on tight, wrap your arms around me till your knuckles are burning white…All your tears couldn't match the bitter taste of all these wasted years…_"

**A/N: :D**


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